To Bed the Baron (Girls Who Dare Book 9)

by Emma V. Leech

  “It just arrived from The Priory, with this note, miss.”

  As Jemima took the note from Bessie, she felt her heart give a little flutter of excitement, not that the poor thing had done anything but flutter since she’d awoken at dawn. Today she would marry Solomon Weston, Baron Rothborn, and she felt certain she must be caught in the loveliest of dreams, for life could not possibly be this wonderful. Except it appeared it was, and she must get used to it. With fingers that were not entirely steady, she broke the seal upon the note.

  My darling Jem,

  Mrs Norrell tells me I am on no account allowed to see you before the wedding, an idiotic state of affairs and one that has thrown me into a frightful sulk. As you are not here to scold me, I am making the most of it and terrorising the staff. There is a fair chance they will murder me before the ceremony.

  I had hoped to give you this gift in person, but I feel certain that you would like to wear it today and so I must be noble and sacrifice my own happiness to forgo that pleasure. You see what an admirably selfless and gallant man you are marrying. I hope you consider yourself fortunate.

  Of course the truth is that there is no one in the world more fortunate than I, my dearest love, and I am counting the minutes until we are wed—as are the staff—I feel my life is starting over a fresh, that there is a clean page set before me, and I cannot wait to see what we shall make of it together.

  In anticipation of all that is to come,

  Yours ever,

  Solo x

  “Oh, no, don’t cry!” Violet exclaimed, flapping a handkerchief at Jemima. “You are not going to get married all red-eyed and sniffy, madam!”

  “I’m n-not crying,” Jemima protested, choking a little. “I’m l-laughing and crying.”

  “Well, stop it at once!” Violet’s fierce protest was rather diminished by the fact she was dabbing at her own eyes too.

  “Oh, open the box, miss!” Bessie pleaded, shoving the large, flat leather case into Jemima’s hands, making her gather herself enough to concentrate on opening the tiny gold clasp holding it closed.

  The clasp sprang open and Jemima lifted the lid, and all three of them gasped.

  “Oh, my stars!” said Violet.

  “Lawks!” Bessie cried, grabbing Jemima’s arm with excitement.

  “Good heavens.” Jemima stared at the parure set in awe.

  Diamonds and pearls set in rose gold sparkled in the bright morning sunlight, stealing her breath. There was a necklace so fine it looked to Jemima fit for a queen. There were also two bracelets and drop earrings, as well as a brooch.

  “Oh, put them on me, put them on!” Jemima said, as Bessie and Violet laughed with delight at her excitement.

  “Oh, and there’s this, too,” Bessie said, taking a silk-wrapped parcel from the pocket on her apron. “Lord, what a hen wit I am! I nearly forgot, I was so excited by the box.”

  Jemima undid the velvet ribbon holding the parcel closed as Bessie fixed the necklace at the nape of her neck.

  “Oh, look! Matching hair clips!”

  By the time Violet and Bessie had fussed about her hair, the jewellery was in place, and her dress was arranged to their satisfaction, it was time to leave.

  “Oh, Jem, you do look lovely,” Violet said, proving that she wouldn’t make it to the church before she started weeping again.

  “Like a princess,” Bessie said with a happy sigh, clutching her arms about herself. A sharp knock at the front door had Bessie scuttling downstairs. “That’ll be the carriage!” she shrieked happily.

  Taking advantage of the moment, Violet stepped forward and gave her a careful hug, ensuring she did not mess the bride’s hair or wrinkle her dress. “I’m so happy for you, Jemima. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer young woman.”

  “Thank you, Violet, for everything, and you know the cottage is yours for as long as you wish to stay here. I arranged it all with Solo.”

  “Oh, Jemima,” Violet said, wide-eyed. “That’s so… so very kind of you.” Then she blushed, such an unusual reaction from Violet that Jemima wondered what she was hiding.

  “Violet?”

  Violet cleared her throat. “Well, it’s only that… it might not be for so very long. You know those walks I take sometimes in the afternoon? Well, Major Hawkins has been joining me and, if I’m not very much mistaken, I think he might be asking me a question very soon.”

  “Oh, Violet!” Jemima exclaimed in delight, giving her a fierce hug.

  “Stop it, you’ll muss your dress!” Violet cried, though she was laughing all the same.

  “Now tell me truthfully.” Jemima made her face as stern as she could manage, wagging a finger at Violet. “Was it the peapod wine?”

  “Oh!” Violet said, giving her a playful tap. “Stop it, you wicked girl. We’re neither of us spring chickens, but no peapod wine was necessary, I assure you.”

  Laughing delightedly, Jemima followed Violet downstairs, only to be hustled into the parlour by Bessie, who was wide-eyed with awe and clutching at her apron. Not terribly surprising, when Jemima entered to discover the Duke and Duchess of Bedwin awaiting her.

  “Prue!” she exclaimed, rushing to hug her friend, who beamed happily.

  “Darling, you look magnificent,” Prue said, making Jemima turn in a circle so she could admire her fully. “Now, we shan’t stop, but I wanted to ask who was going to give you away, because Robert is getting very good at it, and I want to offer his services if you should like them.”

  “I’m very cheap,” the duke replied, giving an astonished Jemima a wink. “I’m thinking of hiring myself out.”

  “Oh, hush, Robert.” Prue rolled her eyes. “This is only the third time I’ve offered your services, after all, but it has to be said that there’s nothing like having a duke give you away to lend one countenance. You see, Helena told us of the horrid gossip in the village, and I thought this would be an excellent way of shutting them all up.”

  “Oh, my,” Jemima said, staring at Bedwin, who looked magnificent and very ducal indeed.

  “That’s a yes!” Prue said, clapping her hands with glee. “Now then, Robert, you take Jemima in our carriage. I shall go with Mrs Attwood, if the lady doesn’t mind, that is?” Prue asked, holding out her hand to an astonished Violet. “I’m Prunella Adolphus, pleased to meet you. There, introductions done. Shall we go?”

  Jemima gave a startled laugh as Prue led the way, her burgeoning stomach preceding her amid a stately swish of expensive fabric.

  “My word.” Violet stared after her in awe, uncharacteristically speechless.

  “Such a managing creature, she is. I always knew she’d make an admirable duchess,” Bedwin said fondly, before offering Jemima his arm. “Shall we?”

  ***

  Solo tugged at his cravat. It had seemed fine when he left the house, but he was certain it had shrunk in the meantime. The blasted thing was choking him. He turned to the man standing beside him in front of the church. “Have you got the ring?”

  Inigo sighed. “You’ve asked me that three times. I assure you the answer hasn’t changed.”

  Solo scowled at him. “You’re supposed to put my mind at rest and be a tower of support.”

  “You have a cane, lean on that,” Inigo suggested, grinning at him.

  “I don’t remember you being quite so sanguine the morning of your wedding,” Solo grumbled. “In fact, you stuttered and stammered the entire way through the ceremony.”

  Inigo snorted. “Yes, you great clod pole, and now you know why. It’s terrifying.”

  Solo could not disagree. Standing now in the chilly environs of St Martin’s Church, a building so ancient it had been mentioned in the Domesday Book, marriage seemed a terribly solemn and weighty deed to be contemplating. A shiver of apprehension thrilled down his spine as he panicked about exactly what he had to offer a bright, vivacious young woman like Jemima. Would she grow bored with him? Would she find him dull in a few years? Would she…?

  His increasingl
y alarming musings were halted as Inigo elbowed him with some force. Solo looked up.

  “She’s here,” Inigo hissed through his teeth.

  Solo swung around and any doubts flew out of the window. His breath snagged in his throat as he caught his first glimpse of his bride. She wore a gown of white muslin embroidered all over with yellow flowers, and no veil, her lovely face the most glorious thing he’d ever seen. The smile she bestowed on him as their eyes met, so full of joy and anticipation, not only vanquished his fears but made him forget everyone and everything. If not for Inigo grabbing hold of his arm, he’d have marched up the aisle and taken her hand himself, quite ruining the splendid entrance she’d made on the arm of the Duke of Bedwin.

  Well, that was a surprise. Though Jemima had mentioned she was friends with the duchess, Solo had never imagined she was on such intimate terms with her. Tearing his eyes from his beautiful bride and squelching a tiny surge of jealousy at the magnificent picture she made with the duke, Solo looked at the congregation and grinned. The villagers’ eyes were on stalks, but in the front rows he saw a number of women whom he suspected were members of the Peculiar Ladies Jemima had spoken of with such affection and esteem. They too were beaming at Jemima, dabbing at their eyes and full of joy for their friend. As the duke bore his beloved closer, Solo felt his chest ache with happiness and pride.

  “Rothborn,” the duke said, looking very pleased with himself. “I believe this lovely creature belongs to you.”

  Solo found his throat too tight to reply, a situation he hoped he could resolve before he made even more of a muck of the ceremony than Inigo had. So he just smiled, nodded at the duke, and took Jemima’s hand, feeling the tension that had beset him all morning fall away as her fingers curled around his own. She stared up at him, and he saw all his hopes and dreams reflected in her eyes. With a brief squeeze of her fingers, Solo decided he wanted the ceremony over and done as quickly as possible, and turned back to face the vicar.

  Mr Pemble blanched a little and cleared his throat, and it soon became apparent that it would not be the groom who would stutter through this service.

  ***

  “I need another handkerchief,” Matilda lamented, looking at the mangled mess she’d made of the spare one she’d brought with her. “Two usually suffices, but Lord Rothborn looked so utterly spellbound, and Jemima was so very… oh!” she said, waving a hand as her voice trembled.

  Helena sighed, watching as the newly married couple exited the church into the sunlight beyond.

  “I know,” she said wistfully, wondering if she would look upon the man she eventually wed with such adoration. “He looked terribly dashing and heroic in his uniform. All that scarlet and gold, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many medals.”

  “Me either,” Matilda agreed.

  “Will you stay for the wedding breakfast?” Helena asked as she got to her feet, being careful to collect her reticule, as she was far too prone to leaving the dratted thing behind.

  “I’d like to, but Alice needs to get back. She tires easily now.”

  Helena smiled, hopeful that she should have a companion for the journey back to her uncle’s house, as Prue and Robert planned to stay at the estate in Hampshire for a few weeks while Prue was still fit enough to travel.

  “Should you like me to give you a lift home then, so you can stay? We shall practically go past Alice’s front door anyway, so it’s no trouble.”

  “Oh, yes, thank you. I should like that, if Alice doesn’t need me.”

  Matilda went away to speak with Alice and, having been assured that she could do perfectly well without her sister-in-law for a whole afternoon, Matilda returned to accept Helena’s proposal.

  “Excellent,” Helena replied, tilting her face to enjoy the sunshine as they walked arm in arm back to The Priory. They’d dispensed with the carriages as it was only a short distance and the day too glorious to miss. “Will you stay in Kent for a while yet?”

  Matilda nodded. “For as long as Alice wishes me to, and….”

  She hesitated and bit her lip, and Helena’s curiosity was immediately roused.

  “And?” she pressed.

  Matilda sighed and glanced sideways at her. “May I rely on your discretion?”

  “Oh!” Helena said with a delighted, if quiet, squeal of excitement. “An intrigue! I knew it! Oh,” she said again, staring at Matilda as she realised what she was most likely to have to be discreet about. “It’s Montagu, isn’t it?”

  Matilda flushed, confirming this supposition without saying a word. “Not entirely, no,” she said, sounding a little flustered. “But indirectly, yes, yes, it is.”

  “Well?” Helena demanded, delighted to be asked to share such a confidence with Matilda, whom she’d always admired.

  Though Helena was the daughter of a duke and duchess, she often felt that Matilda carried herself with far more grace and nobility than she would ever manage. Helena always felt she was playing a part, whereas Matilda seemed to come by it naturally, as if she’d been born to it.

  “Well,” Matilda began, and then laughed at the obvious excitement she must be able to see in Helena’s expression. “Well, the thing is, I have met his niece three times now. She’s a dear little girl, about eight years old, I believe, and she is insistent that I come and visit her at Dern. Indeed I believe she has pestered poor Montagu to such an extent that he has agreed to vacate the premises so that I might visit the girl without fear for my reputation, but… I shall need a friend to lend me countenance and….”

  “Yes!” Helena said before Matilda could finish another word of her explanation. “I’ve always wanted to see Dern. It’s terribly ancient and full of secrets. Did you know the word Dern come from the Saxon dierne, and it even means concealed, secret, dark or hidden?”

  Matilda stared at her in astonishment, and Helena flushed.

  “Well, it does,” she said a little defensively. “I like the history of old buildings, and I get bored a lot.”

  “Well,” Matilda replied, laughing now. “Then I shall have the perfect companion for my visit, and I can well imagine you get bored. I’ve never known a woman less able to sit still for five minutes together. I’m only astonished you made it through the ceremony without fidgeting.”

  “I can behave,” Helena retorted, sticking her nose in the air like the duke’s daughter she was, before slanting Matilda a mischievous look. “When I feel like it,” she added with a grin.

  The two women laughed together, and carried on chattering in perfect accord, all the way back to The Priory.

  ***

  Jemima had never smiled nor laughed so much in her entire life. Her cheeks ached, but she was so happy she felt she might burst with the effort of trying to contain it, so she didn’t.

  Not only was it the happiest day of her life because she had married Solo, but she was overjoyed to see so many of her friends had joined her. Harriet and her husband, the Earl of St Clair, as well as Harriet’s brother Henry had come. To her astonishment and delight, Jemima discovered they had also brought Kitty and her husband Luke, who had come for a brief visit and happened to be staying with them. Aashini and Lord Cavendish had also come. Matilda had arrived, carefully helping a heavily pregnant Alice, with her anxious husband Nate on her other side. Alice and Nate left immediately after the wedding, but Jemima was more than touched by Alice’s insistence on being there for the ceremony. Bonnie and her husband Jerome had come, bringing Minerva with them too, and Jemima felt her cup was most certainly overflowing. The only person who’d not made it was Ruth and, as she would not even have received the invitation yet, since she was out in the wilds of the Highlands of Scotland, there was no point in lamenting that fact. The only other person missing was Jemima’s aunt, who would have been beside herself with pride over the presence of so many noble families, and in raptures about Jemima being given away by a duke, of all people. Jemima smiled to herself, though, certain that her aunt was looking down on her and feeling very pleased i
ndeed.

  She turned, gazing once more upon her husband, resplendent in full military dress uniform, and felt herself to the luckiest woman who ever lived.

  ***

  “You’re happy?”

  Jemima turned to her husband. What little remained of a very fine wedding breakfast was being ignored now. The voices of the assembled company rose in chatter and laughter as old friends caught up with news and the villagers relaxed and enjoyed all the benefits of an event at The Priory, which they had lamented losing for so long.

  “Well, that’s a foolish question,” she said, leaning into him. “But no, I’m not merely happy, I’m beside myself with joy. I feel like one of those Montgolfier balloons that might fly away into the sky at any moment.”

  “Well,” Solo replied, his expression grave. “I suspect too much champagne—the bubbles, you know—but you may rest assured I shall keep a tight hold on you, wife. I have plans that I do not intend thwarted by anyone, least of all you floating off into the blue.”

  Jemima stifled an unladylike snort of amusement. “I’ve only had three glasses of champagne,” she retorted with as much dignity as she could manage, but she felt the bubbles had gone to her head.

  She’d been too excited to eat anything all day, and the delicious drink on an empty stomach was making her feel giddy and silly. She beamed at Solo and tilted her head up towards him for a kiss. He rewarded her, briefly, but when he drew back his gaze was dark and hot and the giddy feeling intensified as it mingled with anticipation.

  “Time to leave,” he said, his voice as decisive as she’d ever heard it. “If we don’t go now, I’m likely to ravish you on the table in full view of the assembled company, and Mrs Granger will believe she’s been vindicated.”

  “Oh, well, we can’t have that,” Jemima said, torn between laughter and blushes and finding both were necessary. “Not after we’ve worked so hard to make her see how perfectly perfect I am,” she added, batting her eyelashes at Solo and attempting to look innocent and guileless.

  “Do that again once we’re alone and see where it gets you, wife.” Solo chuckled and grabbed her by the hand.